


The Rise of Iron Doom

by laireshi



Category: Iron Man (Comic), Marvel 616
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Civil War II, Getting Together, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I love you, I trust you, and you're a crazy genius in love with medieval-looking armours full of high tech anyway,” Tony says and grins. “Do you know a better candidate?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rise of Iron Doom

**Author's Note:**

> [Comicsohwhyohwhy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Comicsohwhyohwhy/pseuds/Comicsohwhyohwhy) beta'ed it, thank you! There's also one scene inspired by her fic, [Doomed to Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6121003). It's great and everyone should read it.
> 
> [sleepyoceanprince](http://sleepyoceanprince.tumblr.com/) drew [THIS AWESOME FANART](http://sleepyoceanprince.tumblr.com/post/146217796848/because-this-world-needs-more-crackships-i-blame) which made me actually write this fic instead of thinking about it XD Seriously, go tell them how good it is.
> 
> [NohaIjiachi](http://nohaijiachi.tumblr.com) was supposed to stop me from using this title.
> 
> This was written before the announcement of [Infamous Iron Man](http://www.comicbookresources.com/article/exclusive-doctor-doom-marvels-infamous-iron-man-from-bendis-maleev), just after Marvel posted the teaser with [Doom holding the Iron Man's helmet](http://comicsohwhyohwhy.tumblr.com/post/146422673613/teaser-for-marvel-now-fall-2016). It goes AU after Invincible Iron Man 011 and assumes that Doom was a part of the Tony-saving team in Japan. As for Civil War II, most of the plot is based on my speculations.

When all is said and done, Tony stands in a skyscraper in the middle of Tokyo, broken parts of his armour strewn across the room. He squints against the sunlight, and Rhodey clasps him on the shoulder, comforting, except he almost died because of Tony again, how can he be okay with it? Rhodey leaves after the other Avengers before Tony has a chance to ask, apologise, anything. Tony can't go after him.

Doom is still in the room, very quiet, but Tony's viscerally aware of his presence. Stephen Strange would spew some bullshit about auras and magical signatures, but Tony knows it has nothing to do with that.

“You could've told me,” Doom says finally, barely a louder breath.

Tony looks at him and stops his gaze at Doom's shoulders, squared back; can't force himself to meet Doom's eyes. “I—”

“You could've told me,” Doom repeats. “I could've helped.”

Tony's going to have this conversation a hundred times over with other people, he's sure of it. He was _right_ , he had to do it. He wouldn't have gone through with it if he’d had another choice. The problem is, none of these other conversations will matter quite as much as this one does. Tony stays silent, because all the words seem so inadequate, and then Doom continues, “Three months. You let the whole world think you were dead for three months.” A beat, the unspoken _you let_ ** _me_** _think you were dead_ between them. “I have resources, Anthony, _I could've helped_.” He sounds pained, but his voice doesn't raise. Doom always makes sure to control himself. Listening to him now _hurts_.

“And yet these resources didn't tell you I was alive?” Tony finally snaps. It comes out surprisingly sharp, almost like a physical blow. Doom flinches, minutely; Tony probably wouldn't have noticed if his eyes weren't still fixed on Doom's arms, too scared to _really_ look at him.

“Very well,” Doom says, in the same fake-calm voice that only shows the hurt. Another small change in his posture, and—

“Wait!” Tony calls before Doom can disappear in a cloud of magic. “I'm sorry.” His back is rigidly straight, and his hands are at his sides; he's never been more serious in his life. This, here, _matters_ , and suddenly Tony doesn't want to hide it anymore.

“Are you?” Doom demands.

Tony _looks_ at him. Doom's face is a more effective mask than his armour had ever been—but there's a crack, in his eyes, just a fracture too wide; and the fact that Tony can even see it . . .

This is the problem, he thinks; he didn't ask for Doom's help, because it would've been an acknowledgement—that there _was_ something happening between them, that it was _important_.

“I am,” Tony says now. “I am, Victor.”

The sensation of Doom's lips on his is shocking and fitting in equal measure. Tony puts his hand on Doom's chest, grabs his shirt to pull him closer, and then he feels Doom's heart beating wildly—exactly in rhythm with Tony's own.

***

“That's so medieval,” Doom says, looking around, clearly cataloguing every aspect of the cell; cold concrete floor, metal bars, the multitude of old-fashioned locks that need actual keys. Tony isn't sure he cares.

“They know I'd open any electric lock,” Tony mutters.

Doom's eyes on him are calculating. “No,” he says, finally. “I don't think you would, now.”

Tony considers arguing the point, but maybe Doom's right. Rhodey's dead. Tony's failed. What else is there to do? He's only making things worse; maybe awaiting the end of the world in the cell is the better option, here. He’s reminded of when the Cabal held him, and Tony _wanted_ to get out and save the world, even though the only thing he cared about then was his own _superiority_. He didn't fix anything then. He wouldn't now.

He almost wants to laugh at himself.

“I could get you out,” Doom offers after a moment of hesitation. Tony supposes he should appreciate how Doom hasn't just done it without asking, considering his own record with breaking out of jail, and then feels guilty. Doom's really trying to be better now. It's Tony who . . .

“I tortured him,” Tony says aloud, finally. Doom's still looking at him almost impassively.

“ _I_ have tortured people,” he reminds Tony. “I can tell the difference.”

Tony chuckles, unhappy. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Doom squats next to him, puts his hand on Tony's arm, careful, as if he's expecting to be pushed away. “It's a fact,” he says.

Tony covers his eyes with his forearm. “I didn't even manage to learn how his powers work,” he whispers. He can't do much with Friday's copy of Ulysess' brain patterns without access to his network. But he can't fuck up anything else. Not after Rhodey died. It's the least Tony owes him, to protect everyone else.

“You're a scientist,” Doom says, an echo of his words from months ago. “I'd expect you to know the importance of repeating the tests.” The question isn't any less obvious this time around.

“So are you,” Tony says. “You could—” Something occurs to him, suddenly, and immediately blossoms into a terrible certainty. Doom's still touching his arm, lightly, and his breathing is calm, measured, as if he's approaching a spooked animal, as if he doesn't want to set Tony off. He's barely spoken, really, and he hasn't made any comment on the events. “You agree with them,” Tony says flatly, and Doom's fingers on his arm tighten briefly.

“It's a tactical advantage,” he says, “that shouldn't be discarded. It's a chance to bring forward a better future.”

“It's a chance to _destroy_ it,” Tony snaps.

“I would've thought you of all people—”

Tony's had this discussion before, but Rhodey was still alive then, and now Doom is using the same arguments, and—Tony can't deal with that. He can't.

“ _Stop_ ,” Tony whispers. “Stop, Victor, Rhodey's dead because Carol thought like you.”

“Everyone in your line of work can die any time a supervillain attacks,” Doom says. “I would know, Anthony. I killed people. Wouldn't you have jumped at a chance to stop _me_?”

Years ago, Tony would have, and he hates it. But he's changed, and it's a good thing Tony had never been presented with that particular temptation before Ulysses.

“We'd never have gotten here if I had,” Tony says as he covers Victor's hand with his own, keeps them connected. He doesn't reach out to pull Victor in because there's a careful balance, here, and Tony doesn't want to upset it, no matter how much he wants to hug Victor and feel him close now.

“No,” Victor agrees. “We wouldn't have.” He doesn't add more. As if that's an acceptable solution to him, when it very clearly isn't to Tony.

“He could tell us you're going to take over the world next week,” Tony says.

“Who says I'm not?” Victor says lightly, and Tony startles, looks at him.

“If you wanted to seduce a hero first, you didn't quite succeed,” Tony lets out, and Victor freezes, his eyes widening. Tony realises his mistake a second too late, adds, “Well, you didn’t pick a hero, did you, I'm in this cell for a reason.” He’s speaking so fast that the words come out almost jumbled together.

Victor nods, very slowly, before speaking again. “Because you're a sentimental fool,” he says, but there's no heat in it. He's looking at Tony closely. “So if Ulysess could tell you for sure what my intentions are, you wouldn't take it?”

Tony does pull him in now, leans his forehead on Victor's shoulder. “If they were as dark as you want me to imagine right now, you'd never suggest asking,” he says. “And no. I wouldn't take it. Because even if you _are_ plotting something, it doesn't mean you'd _do_ it. Do you know how many of my ideas could destroy the world?”

The truth is: most of them, in the wrong hands; he _is_ providing cheap power now. And that's not counting his weapons. (Once an arms dealer, always an arms dealer, he thinks bitterly, remembers the newest Extremis, remembers bombs _designed_ to blow up another world; he barely manages to stop himself from shivering.)

“You don't know mine hasn't,” Victor says then, and it's raw, _honest_ , and it doesn't make any sense, because the Avengers or the Fantastic Four had always stopped him, when villainy was the sort of thing he'd been interested in, and Tony knows he's missing something here; just as he knows asking will only make Victor run away.

Then Victor puts his hand under Tony's chin, forces him to meet his eyes. “I can leave,” he says. “We don't agree on the hypothesis; in the past I would've thought that alone merited you being in a cell. As it is now, Anthony, neither of us can give a full answer to Ulysses. I would use his visions—if I knew they were true. I have a lab where I _can_ check that.” His words are light, but his tone is very serious. It's the third time he's asking, too, and this more than anything else tells Tony Victor _wants_ him to go with him.

“What will you do if we still don't agree after?” Tony asks quietly.

Victor huffs. “We have experience fighting each other, don't we? I think we'll do just great.” He doesn't sound happy, but he has a point.

Rhodey died when all Tony wanted to do was protect him. Victor and Tony had even saved Camelot once, while they were fighting. Might be for the best, Tony thinks, and wants to cry.

“So what, now we add breaking out to my list of crimes?” Tony says finally.

“You can say I kidnapped you,” Victor says, and he leans in and kisses Tony as his teleportation spell engulfs them.

***

The shower is cold. Tony wants it this way.

Everything's going to hell; every bad scenario Tony has ever thought of becoming true; Rhodey's dead, Carol hates him, Steve is probably on the way there; his life is ruined thanks to Medusa, he still hasn't discovered how exactly Ulysses' powers work, and fuck, _he just wants a drink_.

Just one. He could stop. Just one, to make it all more bearable. So that he'd sleep at night, for once. Just one. He can do it.

He's so fucking tired; _he can't_.

Victor walks in the bathroom. Tony hears him, but doesn't pay him any attention until Victor nods, as if to himself, and closes the tap. For a moment, they look at each other, Tony still curled under the shower, shivering now that the water is gone; Victor in his full suit, somehow still completely dry. He offers Tony a towel without a word, and Tony slowly, so very slowly stands up, wraps the towel around himself, wishes he could just melt away instead. He steps past Victor and leans on the sink, deliberately avoids his own reflection in the mirror. He fills in a glass of cold water, downs it, and it's not what he needs; he only shivers harder. The bathroom is warm, he knows it; it's only him. When isn't it ever?

He's filling another glass with cold water when Victor grabs him by his wrist, pulls him away. The glass shatters in the sink, and then Victor's hands are pressed to Tony's arms, and a wave of magic goes through Tony, drying him and warming him up from inside. _Calming_.

Tony should mind. He should be _mad_. He will be, later, he's certain of it. That is—a violation. He can't quite care right now. The spell is still a point of safety, of security.

“That's your answer to alcohol?” Tony asks in a shaken voice after a few seconds.

Victor shrugs behind him. “I'm a selfish man,” he says. “I will not let you go down this path.”

“You can't not let me,” Tony whispers. That's the problem. If his friends could've stopped him from drinking . . .

Well, Tony only has Victor now, anyway, and Tony doesn't get it; he doesn't understand what changed, what brought them together; he doesn't have the slightest idea: only that it's happened, and he can't imagine waking up without Victor anymore.

Some futurist he is; but he's always planned around the people he loves.

AA meeting, he tells himself. He can't quite worry about that either right now, but it's important. He has to go to one—although maybe somewhere else, not in Daredevil's church, not where Carol and him have— _had—_ gone together for years. Wherever it is, he _has to go_. He has to focus on that, so that he’ll remember it past the spell. He’s feeling safe now, but deep now he know magic won’t fix _anything_. AA meeting, he repeats again, to remember it later, like a prayer. And he—

“Anthony,” he hears, and realises Victor's been speaking.

Tony focuses on him. “Dispel it,” Tony says, clearly. He puts the towel away, stands naked, but cooler air hitting his body barely registers. Tony repeats, “Dispel it, or so help me—”

It's like a bucket of cold water. Tony grabs at the nearest thing to keep his balance. It's Doom, because of _fucking course_ it's Doom, and _now_ Tony is mad, and he's not even motivated to act on it. He just sags against Doom, lets him hold him up.

“You can't do that to me,” Tony enunciates very clearly. “You _can't_.”

“I'm surprised you recognized the spell—” Victor cuts himself off, as if he realised that was not a good thing to say. “I apologise,” he offers instead. He sounds sincere enough.

“Yeah,” Tony says, still leaning on him. “I'm an alcoholic, Victor. You know that. You can't take it away.” He knows Victor hates things he can't control.

“It was—”

“A sedative spell, I would guess,” Tony mutters darkly. “I don't even take painkillers.” At least it dried him off too.

Victor nods slowly. Tony knows he doesn't understand, not really, but he doesn't push it.

Tony steps away just enough to be able to see Victor's face. Victor tilts his head, smiles, and it looks like it's ready to shatter, but then he schools his expression. He gives Tony a long once-over.

“Dance with me,” he says, and Tony blinks, sure he's misheard.

“I'm sure Medusa's blowing up another of my warehouses as we speak,” Tony says.

Victor tenses for a moment, and something in his eyes is dark and scary.

“Okay,” Tony hurries on. “Okay. I'm naked and you're suited up like you have a photoshoot and the world may be ending—sure, let's dance.” What better moment, really.

Victor's face tells Tony he knows exactly what Tony's doing—but Victor _promised_ not to retaliate in Tony's name, and Tony trusts him. This thought isn't even surprising anymore.

The music starts up and Tony is momentarily surprised before he notices Victor's fingers sparkling green where they're closed around Tony's forearm. He knows it's for his benefit, that easy spells aren't visible, and smiles that even now Victor's making sure to telegraph what he's doing.

Maybe especially now, after that spell earlier on—but Tony _doesn't_ want to think about that.

Victor moves his hand to Tony's hip, pulls him closer in—of course he wants to lead, Tony thinks—and takes Tony's other hand. Tony lets him, and the tension slowly seeps out of him as he follows Victor in the familiar steps.

He's barefoot, but he knows Victor won't step on his toes, and he leans back in the more acrobatic positions, knowing Victor won't let him fall. His breath picks up, and he's not cold at all, pressed against the front of Victor's body, high quality material of his suit soft against Tony's skin.

Tony's always liked dancing, the way it made him feel free, and later he found something similar in sparring sessions with Steve—just the feeling of his body and nothing else to _think about_ , nothing to distract him.

When the final note sounds, Victor brings him in, and Tony kisses him, is opening his tie already. Victor laughs against his lips, sounds happy too, and turns them around, pushes Tony against the nearest wall and doesn't stop kissing him.

Sex was always a good distraction too, but with Victor, it’s so much more than that.

Everything's going to hell, but Tony can have this, at least for a while longer.

***

Tony's standing in the rubble of the Tower for the second time. It feels like his whole life is rubble, now.

Victor's beside him, silent.

Tony looks at the sharp glass with some longing; parts of broken windows among all the stones. He shakes his head. He knows that if he stays, the Avengers will come for him. He knows he'll go with them and he knows that this time, he won't take Victor's offer to break him out.

If Victor even offers again.

First, though, first there is something Tony _needs_ to do.

“Get us to the lab,” Tony asks, and is surprised at how his own voice sounds, dry and tired.

Victor looks surprised, but he nods. He's pale, as if he too knows what's coming for Tony now—but of course he does. He's a genius, and it doesn't take one to figure it out; not after everything Tony's done. He got people killed. He only tried to stop his friends from fighting, he thinks, and clearly even that was beyond him.

Victor touches his cheek, turning the touch necessary for the spell to work into a gesture of comfort, and Tony leans into him as Victor's magic surrounds them. He used to hate it, but now it only makes him feel safe. At home.

He opens his eyes as Victor steps away. They're in Victor's lab, and no matter how many times he sees it, it still takes Tony's breath away he's allowed there.

Victor doesn't look any better in the artificial, strong light; the shadows under his eyes more pronounced. He's still very pretty, and still looks way better than Tony feels.

“You said I could've trusted you,” Tony says.

Victor flinches, as if he doesn't want to hear the words now that they're true.

“I trust you,” Tony admits anyway. “I trust you completely. And—well, Ulysses is still alive, but we all know what he'd say about our relationship now, don't we.” He sounds bitter and he doesn't mean to. That he should've guessed earlier how Ulysses' powers really worked, brought on by fear and the darkest scenarios . . . That's on Tony.

“Tony, you—” Victor sounds pained.

“You know as well as I do that they will arrest me,” Tony says, calmly. “I deserve nothing less.”

Victor takes a deep breath, another, and doesn't correct him.

“You wanted to—rehabilitate yourself, didn't you,” Tony continues. “So you can't oppose them when they come.”

Victor reaches for him, but lets his hand fall before it touches Tony's chest. “Anthony, I—”

“I know,” Tony says. He loves Victor too, whenever, however that happened. That's why it's important. “I did terrible things. You can't deny it. I did them because I had to, but it doesn't change anything. Tony Stark belongs in prison.”

Victor is silent, but he finally touches Tony's arm and holds him, tight.

“The world needs Iron Man,” Tony finishes.

Victor lets go as if burnt. “You can't ask that of me.”

“No?” Tony challenges. “I always thought you were quite good with that metal suit of yours. Why not use mine for good?”

Victor is just looking at him, clearly searching for something. “The suit is you, Anthony. That's why—”

“It could be _you_ ,” Tony says, very quietly. “I—I can't stand the idea of my armours being locked up somewhere, useless. Or worse yet, operated by someone I don't trust. But you—you could do good with them.” It's the only logical solution, really, but more than that: it's a thing Tony deeply believes in.

“You want me to be Iron Man,” Victor says, and he doesn't even sound surprised; just sad.

“I love you and I trust you and you're a crazy genius in love with medieval-looking armours full of high tech anyway,” Tony says, and almost grins. “Do you know a better candidate?”

“So,” Victor drawls, “are you saying our—relationship—was just extended narcissism?”

Tony shakes his head. “I've no idea, Victor. I'd say it's more than that. I'd say it's _your_ answer, too.” Tony's sincere, at least, and Victor just makes a small smile.

Tony calls his armour to himself from where it's stored deep in Victor's lab. It reassembles next to him in seconds. Tony spares a moment to look at it again, and then takes off the helmet.

He offers it to Victor silently.

Victor looks at it for a long while. “I did say I liked it, didn't I.”

“You know I have to do this,” Tony says, _begs_.

He expects Victor to wait, hesitate, but he nods almost immediately, still with that sad small smile on his lips. “Very well,” he says. “I'll do it, Anthony, I'll put on a mask again for you.”

This means so much more than what he's saying aloud.

Tony starts the procedure to transfer his armour control, looks at Victor questioningly for the last time. After a second, Victor gives another brief nod, and then the armour assembles itself around him effortlessly; Tony's glad his programming worked. He takes a deep breath, and executes the last bit of the function; gives up the last bit of his own control of the armour. _It's necessary_ , he tells himself again, but it doesn't really make him feel better about the sudden emptiness.

 _Necessary_ , Tony repeats, and looks as Victor is left in full suit, just his faceplate off. It's a strange view, but fitting, somehow, and it calms Tony. He has to go on his tip-toes to kiss him now, and he does, and stays like that for a long time, pressed against Victor in the armour. If it feels like _good bye . . ._

“Thank you,” Tony says.

Victor shakes his head, and then closes the faceplate. Ah, yes, they both always appreciated having a true mask on.

“So, the first heroic act?” Tony asks, and extends his hands in front of him.

Even in the suit, he can see Victor hesitate.

“It'll be you or them,” Tony says.

Victor could probably summon the handcuffs from thin air, but he finds the compartment of the armour containing a pair, and now with slow, so very slow movements he takes them out and puts on Tony. His touch lingers for a second, but then he moves again. Tony longs to feel his hands again and doesn't let himself show it.

“Triskelion, I think,” he says, and Victor just nods and embraces Tony in waist before activating the Iron Man repulsors, taking them up.

Maybe he doesn't want to use magic in Tony's suit—but it's Victor's, now. He should do what feels right to him. Maybe he just wants a few more seconds with Tony, as he flies instead of teleporting them. Tony feels surprisingly secure in this position reversed to what he's used to, pressed against Victor, only his embrace saving him from falling to his death.

“If you want me—I'll come,” Victor promises, and it sounds so wrong in Iron Man's voice. But it's important, and Tony nods to show he understood.

Then they're landing, and it's Steve on the landing deck, of all people.

“I've heard he's a fugitive now,” Iron Man says, pushing Tony forward—careful; too careful. Tony makes himself stumble and fall down. “The armour is in more worthy hands now,” Victor says, and oh god, Steve can clearly see through it, he's heard Tony lying through the faceplate for _years_.

But Steve doesn't say anything as Victor flies away. Then he helps Tony up, carefully. “I'm sorry,” Steve says, sounding honest.

Tony shrugs. “I deserve it,” he says.

“Yes.” Steve seems sad. “I'm sorry I weren't there to help you. I should've been."

“That wasn't your fault,” Tony tells him without any hesitation. His mistakes are on him. “You're a good man, Steve. And I've done everything out of my own volition. Come on. Lock me up before Hill takes me to the Raft. You know it's the right thing to do.”

“Doesn't mean I have to like it,” Steve mutters, and opens Tony's handcuffs, gently rubs at his wrists. It's not necessary; Tony only had them on for a few minutes and he wasn't struggling in them, but he doesn't stop Steve. His hands are warm and nice, and there was a time when Tony dreamt of touching him. Now, it might be the last bit of human contact he's going to get for a while.

Steve leads Tony through the thankfully empty corridors, to the same cell Victor had once gotten him out of. Tony goes inside unprompted, and Steve locks the door. Then he just stands there, looking lost.

“So,” Steve says, quietly. “You gave it to Doom.” It's not a question.

“Give him a chance,” Tony asks. It's the one thing he still cares about, probably.

“You clearly did,” Steve says, but it doesn't sound judgemental. “Were you happy?”

Tony smiles at that. “Considering the times it happened in? Very.”

Steve nods. “I'm glad you found him,” he says, and he sounds honest. “And that it was him . . . I'm glad he was there for you.” He sounds sad, now, but he continues, like a promise, “I will always welcome Iron Man on my team. Good luck, Tony.”

He walks away, slowly, like he has to force himself to take each step.

Tony's left alone.

He's always known it would end like this. Rhodey's dead. Stark Industries is in shambles. Tony killed innocent people.

But Steve's back, alive and himself again. Carol's alive. _Victor_ is alive.

Tony will gladly go to prison for that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The scene from Comicsohwhyohwhy's fic was the one with the calming spell.


End file.
